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Page 46 text:
Safe in Aly Anne hair I love to sit in my armchair soft A nd read my books of below and aloft — Books of adventure, books of a dream, Books that to me so wonderful seem. That I can sit by my fireplace warm Reading of some raging storm ; That while Jim Hawkins ' life is in danger, Or the wild west life of a Texas ranger, I sit in my armchair unmindful of fear. Not one word spoken to me do I hear, So entranced by some make-believe sight, Though I try and try with all my might, I can think of nothing with more delight Than to sit within my armchair ' s height And read and dream from day into night. Ann Morehead, ’ 40 .
Page 45 text:
fishing I thought I saw a large sucker glide under a large boulder near by. I waded over to it and groped underneath searching for the fish. Grasping what I thought was the sucker I pulled it from underneath the rock. In my hands was a large brown water moccasin! You can bet that I made tracks from that spot. I was so scared that I was afraid to fish with my hands for almost two weeks. This type of fishing also helps to increase the knowledge of nature. For instance, you know that if a fish avoids a certain rock there is usually a snake or turtle underneath. Also you will see that bass remain mostly in open water and seldom go under rocks. There are certain types of nature that each person likes better than another. Mine happens to be water and the inhabitants that dwell therein. This type of fishing has helped to increase my love for nature. Fishing happens to be one of my favorite hobbies, and learning the art of fishing with my hands has greatly increased the pleasure of my fishing. Watts Steger, ’37. Rut No Use If I could walk the streets once more With that straightforward tread, A T o care of mine to worry for — But no use: I’m doomed for dead. If I could see my mother, dear, And hold her close upon my breast To kiss away a wistful tear — But no use: I go where God knows best. They sentenced me to die at dawn, And even now I don’t repent The crime I did; it was not wrong — But no use: my punishment is sent. I sit here now in this dark cell, So cold with the chill of morn, For just how long I cannot tell — But no use: I die when day is bom. H. C. Vaughan, ’37.
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